


Go Home, Bill (You're Drunk)

by irisbleufic



Series: The Still Point of the Turning World [6]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alcohol, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Compliant, Canon Jewish Character, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Demons, Family, Family Dynamics, Gen, Humor, Jewish Character, Jewish Pines Family, Missing Scene, Parent-Child Relationship, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Psychological Horror, Season/Series 02, Siblings, Silly, Supernatural Elements, Team as Family, Tricksters, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3820780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns out what you don't know <i>can</i> hurt you, or at least make you look like a fool.</p><p>
  <span class="small">[Set 48 hours post-<i>Sock Opera</i>; wherein the Mystery Twins teach Bill a hard lesson re: booze.]</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Home, Bill (You're Drunk)

**Author's Note:**

> I've spent the past week or so watching _GF_ for the first time, and I found [**many reasons to love it**](http://irisbleufic.tumblr.com/post/117267525700/that-sound-just-my-heart). Having learned of this, [firesighn](http://firesighn.tumblr.com/) made the curious point of telling me that they haven't seen anyone do justice to drunk!Bill (or even _write_ it, for that matter), because think of the ridiculous possibilities, at which point I unfortunately and on the spot imagined a scenario that I found too intriguing _not_ to write. And having decided that Stan distills knock-you-on your-ass grade moonshine probably didn't help. Things to know continuity-wise: this piece is set just a couple days after _**[Sock Opera](http://gravityfalls.wikia.com/wiki/Sock_Opera)**_ , and **[Bill's AMA on Reddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/gravityfalls/comments/315yoy/im_bill_cipher_i_know_lots_of_things_ask_me/)** comes post-events-of-this-fic (my theory is that he's never had a drink _before_ this; whereas, in the AMA, he mentions margaritas).

Dipper groaned, blinking at the ceiling. The bedroom was dark, so he fumbled with stiff, bandaged fingers at his watch-buttons until the digital display glowed traffic-light green. _It's_ _11:30 PM on Sunday, 7/17/12_ , he thought, letting his left arm drop gently against the mattress. _I must've been out for about eight hours this time_. He'd been in and out of consciousness ever since Mabel, Soos, and Grunkle Stan had gotten his sore, strung-out butt home on Friday night after the puppet show.

Shuddering, Dipper hid his face in the pillow. He didn't want to think about puppets _ever_ again.

The first time he'd awakened from being utterly dead to the world, it had been mid-morning Saturday. Somebody had clearly bathed him ( _Please let it not have been Stan, please,_ he'd thought), because his hair had held residual traces of dampness and smelled like Mabel's shampoo. He'd also discovered his left arm had been ACE-bandaged from elbow to fingertips (and Bezazzled to boot).

Dipper rubbed his eyes with his right hand and slid out of bed, yawning. He was wide awake in spite of the late hour, and Mabel's bed was empty of both pig and girl. She was probably downstairs getting along fabulously with Grunkle Stan, because what _else_ was new? He crept down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. He tugged self-consciously at his t-shirt, and then smoothed his boxers; the last thing he needed was mockery from Stan catching some late night TV. Bracing himself, he tiptoed from the foot of the stairs into the living room.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty!" Mabel exclaimed, shaking her bowl of popcorn at him. "I thought maybe we'd lost you this time, and maybe I'd have to get Grenda or somebody to kiss you awake!" She budged over in Stan's armchair, patting the threadbare, fuzz-covered expanse of cushion.

"Please," Dipper muttered, awkwardly hopping up beside her. He settled in, absently snagging a few pieces of popcorn with his good hand while trying to figure out where to position the raging inconvenience that was currently his left forearm. "Let's not repeat the Mermando Incident."

"No worries, bro-bro," Mabel replied, cramming her mouth full. "You're just in time for the _Duck-tective_ marathon! This next episode's your favorite one to mock. Got your zingers ready?"

 _This is gonna be good_ , Dipper thought, gearing up for shenanigans as the title sequence rolled. The first lines of dialogue—if you could even _call_ a string of random quacking dialogue—were spoken by none other than Duck-tective himself, and Dipper was determined to have a retort prepared.

" _HEY THERE, GRAVITY FALLS,_ " said Duck-tective, the unexpected dubbing possessed of an eerily familiar echo-back quality. " _AND HOW ARE MY FAVORITE MYSTERY KIDDOS TONIGHT?_ "

"Ooh," said Mabel, sounding impressed. "Now _that's_ what I call personalized marketing strategy."

It took Dipper only as much time as recognizing that the subtitle did _not_ match what was coming out of Duck-tective's mouth to figure out what was going on. "Uh, Mabel," he said. "That isn't—"

" _OF COURSE IT ISN'T_ ," said Bill, using Constable Craven's voice now that it was the next source of available sound-waves at his disposal. " _THAT'S WHAT I LIKE ABOUT YOU, PINE TREE. SWIFT ON THE UP-TAKE WHEN THE REST OF YOUR COHORT ARE DUMB AS BRICKS_."

"You don't get to talk like that about Soos and Mabel, sorry," said Dipper, reaching for the remote control, which was, fortunately, on top of the doily-bedecked _Allosaurus fragilis_ skull replica and therefore well within range of his right hand. "Goodbye," he said, clicking the power button.

Instead of fading to black, the static sizzling in the wake of the Constable's vanished image gathered itself into a menacing, gold-tinged triangular outline. " _THIS ISN'T HOW I'D PLANNED FOR THIS TO GO, I HAVE TO ADMIT,_ " it hissed, manifesting one menacing pupil. " _I'D EXPECTED YOU TO BE A BETTER SPORT_ ," the static-sigil continued, throwing off sparks as it methodically sprouted arms and legs. " _AH, MUCH BETTER,_ " it sighed, using one of its newly-animated hands to _peel itself off the screen_. "That's _much_ more like it, don't you think?" asked Bill Cipher, hovering, a fully formed yellow eye-sore, in front of the television.

" _Whoa_ ," breathed Mabel, admiringly, once she and Dipper had stopped screaming. "I know being a major buttface is your number-one hobby, but that was a pretty neat trick. Where'd you learn it?"

"I know a guy," said Bill, taking an insufferable moment to preen, tipping his hat to Mabel. "Well, _knew_ a guy. He wasn't ever what you'd call keen to spend that much time hanging out with me in the first place, and he wasn't all that great at screwing with humans, either. Too lazy, you feel me? Last I heard, he'd tossed in the towel and gone to shack up with his boyfriend in Old Blighty," Bill added, adopting an accent that grated on Dipper's nerves; the Union Jack flashed across Bill's midsection-turned-viewing-portal. "Waste of talent, if you ask me, but _they_ know a guy who can make the entirety of time and space cease to exist by just _thinking_ about it, so— _eh_. I steer clear."

 _There's somebody out there_ way _more powerful than this crackpot, check,_ Dipper thought, making a mental note to amend the Journal later. "Listen, Bill, storytime's been super awesome," he said, scratching under the edge of the bandage in an effort to get at one of his mosqito bites, "but I don't understand why you're here. Haven't you suffered enough humiliation for one summer?"

"Aw, _Pine Tree_ ," Bill sing-songed, his tone saccharine-sweet, removing his hat and placing it earnestly over his—well, wait, did he even _have_ a chest? "You underestimate my regard for your well-being. I wanted to make sure I hadn't rendered that body of yours _completely_ useless, because if you're totally out of commission, where's the fun in _that_?" Bill winked at him. "Nice gems."

"They're plastic," said Dipper, exasperated, pulling one of them free. He flinged it at Bill's wide, faux-innocent eye, missing by a mile. "Enough of this nonsense. Why are you really here?"

"Yeah, _really_ ," Mabel cut in, glaring at him. "You almost ruined my perfectly serviceable sibling!"

Bill replaced his hat, straightening his posture somewhat as he hovered. "Oh, _fine_ ," he sighed. "I'll dignify that with an answer. I thought I'd strike back while your hubris was most likely to get the better of you. Two victories against me have swelled your already disproportionately fat little heads, no offense, and I _really_ need that book." His eye glowed red. "I'm jonesing for a reread."

"We've been over this, like, half a dozen times already," Dipper snapped. "You can't have it!"

"C'mon," Bill wheedled, dialing back the rage. "One more bargain, you name the trial and terms." He folded his arms across his—screw it, _chest_. "Third time's a charm."

Dipper jumped up, defensive, wincing as he clutched his jarred arm to _his_ chest. Mabel followed suit, slinging a protective arm across his shoulders. _At least we're facing him together_ , he thought.

"For you or for us?" asked Mabel, cautiously. "I'd like to kick your flat backside again, don't get me wrong, but Dipper's not exactly in any shape to fight." She lowered her voice to a whisper, leaning dangerously close to Bill. "Actually, he's _never_ in any shape to fight, but don't tell him I said that!"

"I can _hear_ you," Dipper reminded her, but his eyes were fixed on Bill. _One more bargain, huh?_ he thought, letting his eyes wander across the room. The memory of Bill's failtastic attempt at consuming Pitt Cola had just given him an idea. "Hey, Bill," he said. "Wanna play a game?"

"Are you _kidding_?" Bill asked, holding out his hand, which had pre-emptively erupted in a familiar burst of blue flame. "I'm _always_ game for a game. Game-for-a-game is my middle name!"

"Ew, whatever," said Mabel, grabbing Bill's hand and giving it a vigorous jerk before Dipper could stop her. "A deal's a deal, and if you lose, we _also_ get to pick you a new one. That's gotta _go_."

"Come on," Dipper said, trying not to panic over the fact that his sister had just _shaken_ on this, leading Mabel and Bill into the kitchen. He flipped the light switch, only to find Waddles busy under the table with an open jar of off-brand Nutella; snuffling guiltily, the pig fled. Dipper ignored Mabel's exclamation of _Awww!_ and marched to the counter, opening the floor cupboard nearest to the refrigerator. "I bet you can't drink at _least_ two shots of everything that's in here."

"Drinking _shots_?" Bill ventured. "Now, that sounds like my kind of sport. What type of bullets?"

Dipper shook his head, opening the cupboard to reveal Stan's dusty and highly dubious collection of spirits. Alcohol made adults behave like idiots, so Dipper could only _imagine_ the effect it might have on a thousands-of-years-old extradimensional eldritch horror who probably had _no idea how it worked_. Or, with his luck, Bill would turn out to be completely immune, and they'd all die slow, agonizing deaths at the hands of an unhinged sentient geometric figure. Still, it was worth a shot.

"Great guess, but not _quite_ ," said Dipper, hoping to lull Bill into one of his now-documented weaknesses: proud complacency. "This," he continued, grabbing an upturned question-mark glass (discontinued stock) off the top of the vodka bottle, "is a shot. It's a quantity of measurement."

"About an average human mouthful, then," said Bill, scratching approximately-where-a-chin-on-anyone-else-would-be. "You do realize, of course," he pointed out, "that we may be at an impasse. I take it the aim here is to overload that thing you guys call a _bladder_ , am I right? You're betting me that I can't _hold it_ , as it were, after drinking more liquid than is advisable for the average mortal? I hate to point this out, but it might not work. I'm not in possession of your bag of bones anymore." He narrowed his eyes at Mabel, who was giggling behind her hands, and then at Dipper. "What's the catch? What's this stuff even good for? Why does it matter to humans so much? What does it _do_?"

 _Oh, I'm betting you can't hold your liquor all right,_ thought Dipper, and Mabel cut in before he could launch into an answer extolling the virtues of a substance neither one of them had even _tried_.

"Alcohol is a magical substance imparting to the drinker _miraculous_ insight into life, the universe, and everything!" she exclaimed, taking a page right out of Grunkle Stan's con-man patter. "With vision as great and far-reaching as you already possess, think of how much it will _amplify_ your power! Look, Billy-boy, all the human philosophers and poets use it," she schmoozed, actually elbowing him for emphasis. "It's a time-honored tradition! What better way to further understand and exploit the very minds you hope to dismantle from the inside out, one nightmare at a time?"

"Tempting, I'll admit," said Bill, dubiously, "but lack of corporeality _still_ seems like an issue."

"Surely somewhere in that weird, gaping void behind your mouth—or at least I _think_ it's a mouth, since you make words come out of it—you can imagine yourself a stomach," suggested Dipper, in what he hoped was a suitably persuasive fashion. "C'mon, Bill. I am _not_ convinced you'd need a body for this. Just think of the possibilities! In that mindscape dimension of yours, _anything_ is—"

"Okay, kid, _fine_!" Bill exclaimed, holding up both hands, palms out, as if to _shield_ himself from Dipper. "You've built an airtight argument. I'm sold. Count me _in_. Consume paltry human mystery fluid, gain even _greater_ insight into skull-warping methodology. Is it better than soda?" he asked with eagerness that _might_ have been genuine. "That crap wasn't anything to write home about, but it tingled."

"You'll like this one, then," Mabel reassured him, ceremoniously taking up the rum bottle by its stubby neck. "You're a guy who appreciates all things related to fire, right? This stuff _burns_."

Bill accepted the bottle with due ceremony, making Dipper and Mabel cringe as he promptly incinerated the cork. "If you'll give me a moment," he said, closing his eye in concentration; in for the next few seconds, his entire frame glowed every shade in the spectrum of purple from lavender to eggplant. He finally blinked, holding the bottle up to study it. "What's the applicable expression?" he asked. "Cheers? No, wait; you'd have to be drinking, too, and there's no way I'm going to share when I'll need all of this to kick your puny rear-ends _and_ conquer humanity besides."

"The expression you're looking for," said Dipper, fingers crossed behind his back, "is _bottoms up_."

"This is so _exciting_!" Mabel cried, covering her eyes. "I can hardly watch! In three, two, _one_ —"

"Bottoms up, suckers!" Bill exclaimed, downing about a third of the already half-empty bottle in one go. Dipper managed to catch the rum just as it slipped from his grasp, but he stumbled, landing hard on _his_ bottom. Another shot's worth splashed out of the bottle, soaking Dipper's shirt.

Meanwhile, Bill actually _coughed_ ; Mabel had produced their video camera out of nowhere.

"So, Mr. Cipher!" she chirped, getting up in his face with the lens. "How's your first taste?"

Dipper sat watching in helpless fascination as Bill blinked, a slow grin spreading across his features, and _waved to the camera_. "Not half bad, Shooting Star. And it _did_ burn, so I'm inclined to think you might just keep your other promises, too. It's smoky and a tad sweet. Like burnt sugar."

"Awesomesauce," said Mabel, turning off the camera, setting it aside. "That'll be a nice one for your video-blog memoirs once you've taken over the world." She turned away from Bill, winking at Dipper as she helped him to his feet. "Why don't you let Pine Tree here pick your next poison?"

Bill nodded, maybe even swaying slightly as he hovered, unless the fall had knocked something _else_ loose in Dipper's head. "Serve me in that glass-thingy," he said. "Traditional!"

"Sure," said Dipper, dazed, scarcely believing that they _might_ just have a chance at pulling this off. He started yanking bottles out of the cupboard at random, not even sure what a handful of them _were_. He paused and read the label of the one he currently had in hand; wasn't Kahlua that stuff their parents liked to pour in their coffee and hot chocolate around Hanukkah? "Try this," he said, handing the shot-glass to Mabel so he could pour one-handed. "If you've got a sweet tooth, this should fit the bill." Dipper took a moment to berate himself for the unintentional pun while Mabel snorted, setting the bottle aside. He took the glass from Mabel, passing it to their uninvited guest.

"Why, _thank_ you, my fine coniferous friend," said Bill, and it took all of Dipper's self-control not to burst out in giggles just like the ones Mabel _wasn't_ succeeding in holding back. "It's thicker, this one. Has a certain— _je ne sais quoi_ , one feels," he said, reverting back to the fake English accent. He held the glass up to the light, sloshing it around, blinking half-lidded at the logo. "Where _is_ Question Mark tonight, anyhow? I was hoping to say hello. Anyhoo, bottoms up _again_."

 _I can't believe this is happening_ , Dipper thought, watching Bill chug the Kahlua in one swallow before holding out the glass for a refill. He shrugged and obliged, hoping for further degradation.

"I can't believe he's on, what, number _four_?" Mabel whispered behind her hand. "Maybe even five! That mouthful he took from the rum was _definitely_ more than just one shot. This is epic."

"I see that my prodigious substance-imbibing prowess has _not_ gone unnoticed," Bill anounced, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He bowed to Dipper, and his hat fell off, vanishing in a puff of residual television static, but the demon hardly seemed to notice. "I may have been over-hasty in diagnosing the relative intelligence of your compatriots on several earlier occasions. For your deference in this matter, I shall deign to apologize." Bill patted Mabel on the head.

Dipper tapped his chin, deciding to milk this for all it was worth. "Usually you should _say_ you're sorry," he advised, and Bill's hand halted mid-pat. "It's the statement that matters, you know? And the more words you use, the more sincere the apology. It's a mark of, _uh_ —of true mastery of the art of—of gleaning insight into the labyrinthine reaches of the human mind. Which is the goal here."

Bill wagged a finger at Dipper, proffering the glass again. "It has not escaped my notice that this stuff _vastly_ improves articulacy," he said with mild reproach. "You hadn't mentioned _that_. Hit me!"

Dipper poured him some more Kahlua, and then capped the bottle. "There's more for you to try."

Bill sat the glass on the floor and turned back to Mabel, affecting an air of contrition—which was an emotion he had obviously _never_ attempted to experience, because he was grinning like one of those talking Summerween skulls that Soos liked so much. "Shooter— _er_. Shooting Star," he began, and, much to Dipper's shock, drifted down from his habitual hovering-height until his feet touched the floor. He wobbled at the impact, his stick-arms flailing comically, steadying himself by catching hold of the open cupboard door. "Please allow me in this moment to express my deepest and most suddenly manufactured, yet strangely also somehow _sincerest_ regret that I have in any way, shape, or form in time past, present, _or_ future managed to cause you that most baffling yet admittedly hilarious of human emotions known as _distress_ —" Bill blinked at her, his eyelid gone halfway to an approximation of Lazy Susan's left-side default. "Good golly. _Gosh_. I'm sorry."

"Aren't you the _sweetest_!" Mabel said, _boop_ ing the top of his pointy head. "Apology accepted."

Bill swayed where he stood, his gaze drifting back to Dipper. "Th'wasn't hard," he slurred, breaking out in a _genuine_ smile that would haunt Dipper's nightmares for _weeks_. "What else've you got?"

"My turn to pick, my turn to pick!" Mabel exclaimed, ducking back inside the cupboard. "Wow _ee_ , guys, look at _this_!" she said, emerging with a Mason jar in each hand. "These don't even have labels!" There was a cinnamon stick in one of the jars, whereas the other looked like it was just straight-up plain—well, _whatever_ it was. "I bet we should save this stuff till last."

Something Dipper had once heard Wendy say about _Stan's secret bathtub hooch_ snapped back into his thoughts as quickly as he'd put it _out_ of his traumatized mind at the time. "Um," he said.

"Capital idea," said Bill, who had let go of the cupboard door and was, in rather impressive fashion, methodically setting aside the bottles he'd already tried and busy selecting a third. He studied the tequila that Soos's grandmother had brought back from Mexico for Stan last time she'd visited, and then set it decisively next to the Mason jars. "What's this?" he asked, brandishing a bottle of whiskey in each hand. "Who is Jami, and why's it named after his son? What's Lap— _laff_ —roy? Roaygh? _Rugh_. Listen, you've gotta help me out here. Some of this stuff's _foreign_."

"Mabel, are you, um, getting this?" Dipper asked, tilting his head in the direction of the video camera on the counter. "Because this is, like, I don't know, potentially _priceless_ —"

She got the camera up and running again just in time for them both to watch, gobsmacked, as Bill did a repeat of his rum consumption on both the Jamison's _and_ the Laphroaig (to be honest, Dipper didn't know how to pronounce that, either) in quick succession. The demon set both bottles down with a sickening _clank_ in the already-tried-it cluster. His pupil was _much_ less malevolent than usual.

" _Well_ ," he ventured, flopping down to sit on the linoleum, "I guess s'why s'called firewater, huh?"

Mabel fetched the jar of knock-off Nutella before flopping down beside him, happily dipping her fingers in what Waddles had left unfinished. " _Shhh_ ," she said. "We don't call it that anymore."

Dipper sighed and sat down across from them, studying the only bottles remaining that _weren't_ the tequila and the two jars of mystery liquor. "I think some of these are just flavoring," he said.

"I just—" Bill gushed, waving his arms an uncoordinated fit of something _uncomfortably_ resembling passionate enthusiasm "—I just love you guys _so much_ right now! Say, will you be my new besties? Let bygones be bygones? I feel like maybe we got off on the wrong foot. Arm? Insert relevant body part in monologue! Here, _ummm_ , wait—I know, I know!" Bill snapped his fingers. "Suitable tokens of comradeship for Pine Tree and Shooting Star, coming right up!"

There was an ungodly, shrieking squeal from the next room, followed by a parallel bleat of distress from outside the kitchen window a split-second later. Two sets of airborne teeth zipped into Bill's outstretched palms, one of them littered with shards of glass on account of having _shattered the kitchen window_ on its way inside. Dipper fought the urge to be sick while Mabel stared in horror.

"Um," Dipper said, scooting back slightly as Bill eagerly proffered the pile of glass-littered goat's teeth in Dipper's direction while simultaneously offering Mabel the set he'd taken from Waddles. "Nah, listen, you, _uh_ —didn't have to do that," he said as placatingly as he could. "Really. Your—transcendent and luminous company is enough. Bill, _seriously_. You'd better put those back."

Mabel made a choked sound kind of like the time Stan let slip the tooth fairy wasn't real.

"You called me _luminous_ ," Bill whispered in drunken awe, and the sets of teeth flew back in the directions whence they'd come. He dusted off his hands, making grabby fingers at Dipper.

Things probably would've gotten awkward if Soos—looking tired and sweaty, but generally content—hadn't walked in right at that instant. He waved at Dipper and Mabel before doing a double-take.

"Dudes, _what's_ goin' on in here?" he demanded, bending down to eye Bill suspiciously. "Aren't you, like, that insane floating triangle dude we had to chase outta Mr. Pines while he was asleep?"

" _And_ I had to whump his sorry, pointy butt out of Dipper's body onstage in front of a hundred people two nights ago," Mabel supplied helpfully. "Bill, meet Soos. Soos, meet Bill. Again."

"I knew somethin' wasn't right," muttered Soos, but he held out his hand. "It's a pleasure!"

Bill held out his hand, which threw off a few pathetic blue sparks, and shook the empty air next to where Soos had _actually_ placed his. "Iss'an honor an' a privilege, Question Mark," said Bill. "Join me for shots?"

"Guys, I'm not so sure I like this situation," said Soos, scratching his chin. "All I wanted was a drink of water after clockin' in some overtime, and here you've got this dream demon _intoxicated_?"

"Your innermost thoughts and desires shall be _mine_ , insignici _—_ sig _nificant_ mortal!" Bill proclaimed.

"Soos, _trust_ me on this," said Dipper, urgently, getting to his feet and pulling Soos aside. "We bet him he couldn't drink at least two shots of everything in that cupboard, and he's _losing_. Bad."

"Just what are the stakes, exactly?" asked Soos. "I _do_ kinda want to get back at him for tryin' to hurt Mr. Pines, but Abuelita wouldn't want me to go losin' my soul in the process, you dig?"

"The stakes come at no cost to you," Dipper sighed. "It's for possession of the Journal."

"Did somebody say possession?" said Bill, perking up. "Because I know this party trick _—_ "

" _Shhh_ ," said Mabel, snatching the jars of moonshine, quickly unscrewing the one that contained cinnamon. "A distraction on that scale would ruin your _magnificent_ transformation! Have some of this," she said, offering the jar to Bill, looking like she might pass out from the fumes alone.

Bill sniffed at it, swaying where he sat. "Oh glorious _day,_ " he murmured, taking several long, unhurried slurps, reaching for the other jar before Mabel could even get it unscrewed, and then did the same with the (presumably) unadulterated version. "I knew it," he said. " _There is no spoon_."

"You can't put a price on memories like this," said Dipper, flummoxed. "You just can't, man."

"Hey, Bill-dude," said Soos, reaching for the tequila and a couple of the bottles Dipper hadn't recognized. "Have you ever had this thing from the land of my people? It's called a _margarita_."

Unexpectedly, while Mabel was making faces over the process of getting the moonshine shut, Bill took a deep, hiccuping breath and _burst into tears_. Granted, they were more bits of bluish static than they were anything resembling fluid, but Dipper was nobody to judge. They stared at him.

"You're all being so _nice_ to me!" Bill wailed. "I can't _stand_ it! Yes, I'll try your marga _whatsit—_ "

"Okay, dude, settle down," said Soos, taking his supplies over to the counter. " _Sheesh_. Cool it a little, or you'll wake up Mr. Pines." Dipper got to his feet with Mabel's help and went over to watch Soos mix the drink like a pro. He hadn't even known Grunkle Stan _owned_ that kind of fancy glass.

"I feel truly privileged to witness a master at work," said Mabel, in hushed tones. "Go _Soos_!"

"Pine _Treee_!" sobbed Bill, pathetically waving his arms. "I can't _see_! Is it everything I've hoped _—_ "

"Buddy, it's everything youv'e ever _dreamed_ ," said Dipper, watching as Soos pinched the finishing touch, some run-of-the-mill table salt, around the edge of the glass. "You'll wanna stand for this."

Bill nodded eagerly, wobbling to his feet, clinging once more to the open cabinet door as Soos handed him the cocktail. As far as Dipper could tell, Soos had put in more tequila than anything else, but for all he knew it was _supposed_ to be like that. Bill hazarded letting go of the cupboard so that he could raise the glass sacrament-like to his (lack of) lips. He saluted all of them.

"This is up there in my top ten scrapbookable moments _easy_ ," Mabel lamented. "Why did I have to choose video as my preferred medium in this instance, _why_?" she demanded. " _Cursesss_!"

"I can screencap the hell out of that for ya," said Soos, and then covered his mouth. "Oops."

"Here's lookin' at you, Pine Tree," said Bill, serious as a seizure, and drank the whole glass dry.

All three of them _stared_ as he blinked once, twice, three times, and then promptly _keeled over_.

"That is, uh," said Dipper, uncomfortably rubbing the back of his neck, " _not_ something I expected. Shouldn't he just vanish or something?" He nudged Bill with his sock-covered toe and got the equivalent of a garden variety static-shock. "We can't just leave him here until he wakes up."

" _Hmmm_ ," said Mabel, fetching a pair of tongs from the silverware drawer. "I have an idea."

It took Dipper serving as a door-stop while Mabel and Soos, the former armed with her metal corn-cob tongs and the latter wielding a pair of plastic ones intended for salad, dragged Bill's inert form outside. He glittered and threw off sparks as they went, which was honestly kind of _cool_ , because it meant Dipper didn't have to run back inside for the flashlight. By the time they reached the edge of the Bottomless Pit, Mabel was jittery with the constant stream of low-grade zaps.

"Dipper's musty old Journal says the Pit will send otherworldly creatures back where they came from," she explained. "I flipped through when I borrowed it on Friday for a prop. Neat, huh?"

"Mabel, that's _genius_ ," Dipper said. "I remember coming across that entry back when I first found it. Who'd have thought it would come in handy? I don't know why it doesn't say that _humans_ end up right back where they start—"

Bill stirred on the ground between them, muttering faintly. It wasn't a language any of them knew.

"Add that in later, Dipper," said Soos, steeling himself, clacking his tongs. "Let's do this thing."

Mabel shuddered, grasping the nearest of Bill's limbs with her own. "On the count of one, _two_ —"

Dipper flinched slightly as they pitched Bill into the abyss, expecting to find the yard suddenly awash in complete darkness. Instead, a single beam of white light approached them from the direction of the Shack. As it loomed nearer, the flashlight-bearer's identity resolved itself.

"What are you kids doing out here?" Stan demanded, shining the light directly in Dipper's face.

" _Ugh_!" Dipper muttered, covering his eyes. "Grunkle Stan, cut it out! We were just _—_ walking?"

"We wanted to see what would happen if we tossed a boomerang down there!" Mabel lied.

"We were just getting rid of some junk I cleaned out of the shed, Mr. Pines," Soos insisted.

"You morons," Stan sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Don't you remember what happened when _we_ fell in there? Huh? I expect you back here first thing in the morning to clean that crap up _again_ if it ends up littered in the grass. Kids, get back to bed. No _buts._ Especially you," he added, pointing flashlight beam straight back in Dipper's eyes. "We can't afford any hospital bills."

Soos said goodnight, hugged Mabel and Dipper, hesitated awkwardly over Stan before patting him on the shoulder, and headed over to his truck. Stan waved with a _harrumph_ , starting for the Shack.

"C'mon, Mabel," Dipper sighed, scratching some more under the edge of his bandage.

"You did good, Dips," she said, punching him in his uninjured elbow. " _Really_ good."

"He'll be back," Dipper sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I just know it."

They walked slowly, watching Stan go inside. The porch light flickered on in his wake.


End file.
